Percy stared.

"You... you want to wash me?"

"I really think you might need some help getting rid of that mud. That reason is easy to explain. And then... the other reason is harder, but I'll try. My mind's been racing since we ran from the city. I'm just a thought away from panic. I know myself, and I know how to stop it. I just need a task to focus on, to steady my mind. But I can't put my heart into something that doesn't really need doing."

"And I need washing."

"But I can easily find something else" Evans added in a hurry. "I think there's a hole in my socks that needs mending."

Percy was locked in place. So focused had he been on avoiding having to serve, that he now found no way to avoid being served himself. His hesitation sent Evans into a restlessness that Percy had never seen in him.

"I meant it when I said you were free to refuse, I don't want you to..."

"No – that is, yes, you can wash me if you'd like. It would be nice to have help getting this mud off me, honestly."

He tried to lighten his words. It was like trying to float a boulder.

Gestures that he usually never granted a single thought to now queued in his mind, demanding attention. Where should he undress? By the bathtub? There was nowhere to leave his clothes, and it seemed callous to discard them on the floor, as though he expected Evans to pick them up. He could leave them on the chair by the window. But to walk stark naked from there to the bathtub would be a long and arduous pilgrimage. And what would he put on once he was out of the bath? He should grab the single clean tunic he had left, keep it by the tub. And if he sat just so, in that angle right there, he might manage to show little more than his bare back. Yes, he was beginning to see how he would do it. His hands fretted as they undid laces, buttons, clasps. Behind him, Evans waited with his undemanding patience.

As soon as he rid himself of his last piece of clothing, he barely allowed the warmth of the room to wrap around his body before he tripped into the tub. He was in such a frantic hurry that he was caught off guard by the feeling of the hot water melting like gold over his skin. A little moan escaped him, and he pretended to scratch his forehead to hide his face. That sound alone had been a hundred times worse than standing exposed in the room for the entire night.

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his legs, tucking his chin between his chest and his knees. He was facing the crackling heat of the fireplace, and had his back turned to Evans. He heard him rummage in the chest of soaps and ointments. Already the dirt that clung to Percy started to cloud the bath water. The rain chattered at the window; the heat of the bath soothed his muscles and coaxed them into rest. He could feel his body relaxing, and he resented it for that.

And now he heard Evans kneeling behind him. He saw Evans' arm reach into the water and dip a sponge. A moment later, a single drop of water fell on the nape of Percy's neck. He waited for more to come, but none did. The drop lingered, then slowly began to leave a silken trace down his back. It sent a mad shudder through him. He could not understand why a single drop consumed him and led him into drunkenness, when almost all of his body was submerged. It traced a tormenting touch past his neck, between his shoulder-blades, along his spine. Beside him, Evans looked on, his eyes following the drop down Percy's back. Percy felt enthralled in that focus. He tried to snap away from it, swim to shore, cling to wakefulness.

"Are... you waiting for something?" he asked. He knew steam could not muffle his voice, but it sounded to him like it had.

"No, not waiting. I'm watching how the water moves on your skin, to know how to wash you."

Percy felt Evans' attention deepen its hold over him. Whatever it was he had done, he had not swum to shore.

"What is there to know?" Percy mumbled. "It's water. And skin."

"It is, but no skin is the same. No water is the same, either."

Percy lowered his head and imagined himself sinking. When the drop had travelled down his back and finally met the water, Evans lifted the sponge again and started to wash him. It was flattering, Percy realized, to be wrapped in his attention like that. He was used to flattery, but not of this kind. The flattery he knew was verbose, weaving layer upon layer of compliments to conceal its intent and the rewards it sought. But Evans washing him – there was nothing concealed there. It was a depthless surface, a forest that bore no shadows. It made no sense to Percy.

The sponge glided from his back to his shoulders, up along his neck, brushing against his ears, remembering the secret inches of skin that he always forgot. A fresh scent of orange blossom spread sweetly around him. Evans' hands reached for his hair and washed it in care. Percy was beginning to think he might have felt less fragile had he been the one doing the washing. He knew he would not be able to stand the silence for much longer. He resented how easily Evans swam in those wordless moments, while he scrambled desperately for the merest word, the merest scrap of flotsam to cling to.

He did it now, scavenging for something to say while Evans busied himself with his hair, tending to it like a prize.

"Back in the mansion... in the kitchen, you thanked me. When I opened the door. You didn't need to. I'm part of your team, you don't need to act surprised when I do things right."

"Thanked you? Oh, no, I wasn't thanking you because of the door. I was thanking you for being there, safe. I worried, knowing you were there alone. I was relieved to see you."

Percy nestled his head on the crook of his elbow, keeping his eyes shut tight. It hurt him, how frankly Evans spoke. It made him feel inadequate, yet again. He knew he was incapable of doing the same.

"Although" Evans went on, "I do want to thank you for something else. Thank you for saving me when we faced the sorceresses."

The mention of that moment was enough for Percy's body to stiffen. The pain of that shattering sound hadn't fully left him yet: he could still feel it grinding him into a whimper. He did not understand what kind of wound it was, and so did not know how to heal it, how to even tell if it had healed.

Evans felt him lock under his touch and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"It wasn't for you" Percy mumbled. "I wanted to make myself useful."

"I know. But you could have chosen to make yourself useful to her, instead."

Percy instinctively inched away from his touch. It left a gap between his skin and Evans' care, cold and hollow. Percy felt it at once.

"What is it?"

"You could hear what she was telling me? I thought she was... speaking to me in my mind. That I was the only one who could hear it."

Percy could feel his acid shame eating away at his shell. Whatever it revealed underneath would be raw and blistering, and bound to pain him at the lightest touch. But Evans, he realized, was treating him like glass. Like something fragile and transparent. Percy had never before found quite so much delight in an insult. And he, like glass, released a single powerful note under that skilful touch.

"Well, perhaps she was speaking to you in your mind, but I could still hear it somehow. It's... always a little tricky to know for sure with fae."

"Then you know what her offer was. To me. Why did she only speak it to me?"

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"She... must have sensed you would consider it, at least. They can sense that."

For a moment, Percy forgot his determination to conceal as much of his body as he could, and he turned to look at Evans, sending great waves of outraged dignity splashing against the tub. His embarrassment when unveiled was a frantic thing, squirming and thrashing like a fish pulled from water.

"I would never..."

"You would never accept it, no. I know. But did you not consider it? Not even a little?"

Percy cast his mind back to that moment, trying to recall it as accurately as he could. He had a good memory – he prided himself in it, and taking pride in things was the only way he had ever been taught to like himself. But this was like casting a net to reel in shadows and whispers. None came back to him, and he splashed at the water, frustrated at that emptiness taking up so much space in his mind. Had he considered the sorceress' offer? He could not remember. He thought he had not.

He realized he had unfolded his body, spreading a generous view of it under the water. He immediately coiled back into himself and locked his arms securely around his legs.

"It doesn't truly matter whether or not you considered it" came Evans' soothing voice. "I'm glad you didn't take her up on it. You don't need the gift she offered you, or any others she might have tempted you with. You don't owe greatness to anyone."

The fire crackled – or was it a cackle? Percy couldn't tell. He could certainly imagine the entire world laughing at what Evans had just said.

"Well, we both know that isn't true" he mumbled.

"No, we both know it's true. But a lot of people don't know it yet. Can I have your arm, or are you afraid I'll run off with it?"

Percy's face returned to its hiding place in the crook of his elbow as he stretched out his right arm and allowed it to be soaped and scrubbed. He almost pursed his lips to blow bubbles into the bath water; but whatever was left of his dignity, now fighting for survival, restrained him away from such a childish display.

"How did you lie so well, back in the mansion?" he asked.

He felt Evans stop for a second, stumbling on nothing, and then easing back into his task.

"I didn't feel it as a lie. It was a story I was telling. I felt it could be true. Turn to face me, please?"

Percy took a deep breath and swivelled in the tub until he faced Evans. He tethered his sight to the edge of the tub, where he knew there was no risk of meeting Evans' eyes. The fireplace warmed his back, and his front somehow felt warmer still. Evans lathered his arms and chest with soap. His gestures were methodical now, almost detached.

In a little gap within Percy flowered an odd bloom of disappointment. But when Evans' hands drifted to the curve of Percy's neck, something in them slowed and lingered. Percy could smell the perfume of the ointments, a sweet sap warming his skin. He scrambled again for something to say.

"Why do you think Armand dragged in anyone who picked his roses? What was so special about them?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. Before you let us in, I read the cards planted by the roses. They were trophies of his glory – that's all I managed to guess. That's why he panicked when Valeria threatened to destroy one. What would he be without evidence of his greatness? But as to why he had to carry away anyone who picked them... I don't know."

The foam of the soap prickled gently at Percy's skin. He dared himself to look up, but only managed to lift his eyes as far as Evans' chest.

"You don't know?"

"The thing with curses is... you never fully understand them unless you are in them. Living them, suffering through them. Seeking to break them only affords so much understanding. It's not the first mystery that I've had to leave unsolved after dealing with a curse."

"But don't you ever... doesn't it bother you, not knowing?"

"Not as much as it bothers me to not understand. But I've learned to leave it behind when I need to. Have you ever been told not to scratch and pick at a wound to let it heal?"

He had. He'd always scratched anyway.

"I'm sure Valeria had plenty of opportunities to tell you that in her best nanny voice" Percy chuckled.

"Oh, but that's the secret of her success. She doesn't have a nanny voice" Evans grinned. "She treats five and fifty year olds alike. She sees the adult in every child and the child in every adult."

Percy nodded. How much of a child had she seen in him? Perhaps far more than it would please him to guess. He heard his own voice slip past his lips again, unguarded.

"Something has been bothering me since we left the city."

"Yes?"

Evans focused on his shoulders now, soaking them in his unyielding attention.

"The servants in Armand's house turned against us when we... when he was no longer monstrous. It's like they chased us out because we got rid of a monster they wanted. Even though we freed them from the curse too. It was almost like they agreed with the sorceress, even though she cursed them. They seemed just as angry that he had... wasted his gift."

Evans nodded and his hands came to a stop, as though they had suddenly grown tired with an invisible weight.

"Yes. He was not a self-made monster. Few of them are."

Only then did Percy manage to look up and meet Evans' eyes. There was something lost in them, but he still smiled.

"Remember – don't scratch too much" he grinned.

Percy cleared his throat and dragged his eyes back down. The water was murky now, and he was wrapped in a dizzying, wonderful scent.

"Very well. Don't scratch too much, you say. But sometimes, an itch is just an itch, not a wound" he smirked.

"All right, what else do you want to ask?" Evans chuckled.

"Not much. You say you don't know and don't understand. But you still managed to find a way to trick the curse into breaking itself. How?"

"It's like I told him. She cursed him to not be able to write anything great. I think she believes that anything that isn't great isn't worth doing. But if he was free of expectations to write something great, there would no longer be a curse to break at all. He'll still be able to compose, and to feel glad when doing it. It's curious, when I think about it – she cursed him, but she isn't that different from him."

"What do you mean?"

"He wanted to achieve greatness and have his name live on, but so does she. She wants to be remembered, to leave a mark, no matter how many people she hurts doing it – just like him. When you pointed out she was harming others too by cursing the servants... you don't realize how brave you were in that moment, do you?" Evans said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"And that's why she accepted Myrtle's offer, of course" Percy added in a sombre tone.

The conversation faded, the back and forth of their voices that had washed them like waves now easing into stillness. He was warmed and soothed, and he had shed a good layer of misery. Whatever knots had held his body tensed together, each muscle pinched and trapped, Evans had untangled them. Percy feared he might come undone as soon as he left that tub. But he did, stepping into the towel Evans unfolded for him. He only noticed once he was wrapped up in it that he had not even thought of fretting as he rose from the water and dripped his nakedness.

But his shyness was quick to return. He had been raised buttoned-up and strait-laced, as though his garments jealously guarded something extraordinary. To have the simplicity of his body laid bare was not a pleasure that came to him easily. Sensing his embarrassment, Evans turned his back to him, and Percy slipped into his tunic in a flash.

Once he stood dressed in front of the fire, he was surprised to find he still wanted to talk. He reached for another question, hoping to pull back a tide.

"Do you not want to wash too?" he asked, gesturing at the tub.

"I will" Evans smiled, though he did not move to do it. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, facing the fireplace, as though he was tidying himself away. "Thank you for giving me a task to focus on."

"Well – thank you, too."

Everything around them crackled and stirred: the fireplace, the rain at the windows, the chatter from the patrons downstairs. And yet, the room felt restful. The fire lavished warmth onto Percy's back, and he feared his legs would melt from under him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing Evans. He tried to hide how comfortable he felt now, fold it into a secret he tucked away within himself. There was pride to be had in being hard to content; he knew all about it. But he could not do it now. He smiled at Evans.

And then, another itch.

"You have... some sort of special link with fae and sorcerers, don't you?" he murmured. "They come to find you and test you, but you can also summon them. Like you did with the enchantress back there."

"Yes. But only in certain moments, and even then, I try not to if I can help it. They don't like feeling like they're at the beck and call of anyone. It usually puts them in a foul mood."

"Before you did it, you told Valeria you needed... a gap?"

And you promised to explain later, Percy left unsaid, hoping his eyes would shape that meaning as he stared at Evans. Evans had one of his smiles and his head dipped down. He ran a hand over the honey of his hair.

"You don't know what I meant by that at all, do you?"

He knew Evans was simply checking, simply gauging his knowledge, simply, as simple as all ever was with him, ensuring that no pointless words were wasted, and no words left unsaid that needed saying. But Percy bristled at having his ignorance laid plain before him. He mumbled something under his breath, a gnarled word of protest, but Evans did not hear it. Instead, he let himself fall back on the bed, and he spoke as he lay there, flat on his back with his hands on his stomach.

From where Percy sat on the hearthrug, he could not see Evans' face anymore, and it was unsettlingly strange, to have that disembodied voice reach him. The words seemed at first almost nonsensical, devoid of any meaning that might ground them.

"The magic of fae and sorcerers lives in gaps" Evans said. "That's where they draw it from, where they... harvest it from. The unnoticed gaps that escape our perception. Well, the words vary: some say magic lives in gaps, others say it hides there. It depends on who you ask, although there isn't exactly a long list of people you can speak to about this."

"Why?" Percy asked at once. "Is it a secret?"

"No. Not many know of it, but it is not a secret that anyone is trying to keep. Small things go unnoticed with no need of conspiracies and secrets to conceal them. They go unnoticed if you just let them."

"But... what are gaps?"

He could not see Evans' smile, but he could hear it, sparking alight.